At Home
by CollaborationSPN
Summary: Mary's death made Dean a firefighter and Sam a college student. They have become strangers, unaware of each other's existence until the suspicious death of Jessica Moore leads Dean to Stanford, to the world of the supernatural, and to the brother he thought was dead.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: We do not own the series.**

_Prologue__:_

After waking up just a tad bit late this morning, seeing the clock about fifteen minutes off from what she was expecting to see, Mary Winchester was halfway down the stairs before even fully awakening. As she gathered all the necessary items for breakfast she blissfully thought of her plans for today. Then she heard the slight shifts her boys made as they turned in the beds upstairs, and a small smile graced her lips before she remembered that breakfast had to make its way onto the table in the next ten minutes. Today was a special day after all.

She then heard soft, slow feet drag themselves along step by step to the foot of the stairs. Until Dean appeared around the corner, yawning and wiping his eyes with a closed fist. He shuffled over to her slowly. Hugging her waist before sinking into her as his eyes fluttered shut yet again. Mary's eyes twinkled at her oldest son as she lifted him up into her arms, grunting slightly since he had been growing like a weed recently.

She carried him into the other room to lay him out on the couch, but just before she could untwine his small arms from around her neck, he shifted and pulled her closer. Mary's eyes closed as she let out a content sigh. And she couldn't help but think that this was what motherhood was all about.

But, of course, she still had preparations to do, and breakfast was still needed. So giving him one last kiss on the forehead, she disentangled herself and headed back to the kitchen. Miraculously, she was able to finish just as she heard John making his way down. And if the way his was murmuring was any indicator, he had brought her little Sam down as well.

"Hey honey," John murmured, as he gave her a quick hug from behind. "Is breakfast ready?"

"It's on the table," she replied, pulling out the orange juice and set it on the table. Meanwhile, John got Sam, who was burbling happily, situated in his high chair. As they sat down, Mary made her way to grab her oldest, who had rolled over and seemed as if he was hugging the pillow he had grabbed to death. Stifling a laugh, she slowly loosened his grip and started to gently shake him.

"Dean. Baby. It's time to get up," she whispered into his ear. "Don't you remember what today is?"

Dean's eyes tentatively blinked up at her smiling face. "Mommy?"

"Yes honey, it's me." She started to pull him to his feet. "C'mon, breakfast is on the table and I made your favorite."

"PB&amp;J with the crust cut off?" He asked hopefully.

"Only for you." She laughed. "Kay, off to the table. You need to be ready for today."

"What's going on today?" Mary's eyes widened comically.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten?" She questioned in a half-teasing tone. "Haven't you been looking forward to today for weeks?"

Dean looked confused for a very moments before understanding flooded his face. "Today I can wear my firefighter hat to school!"

"But not if you don't hurry up and eat for breakfast. So get a move on." They made their way to the kitchen table where John was finishing up his meal. "John did you feed Sam?"

"Oh, no I didn't." He started to get up, gathering his dishes as he did so. "I need to get going. So can you take care of that?"

"I guess I don't have much of a choice," Mary huffed as she started pulling Sam's food out of the cabinet, a frown evident on her face. Dean was staring down at his plate as he listened the interaction between his parents. And as they both heard the front door open they both froze, only relaxing once hearing the door close. Mary sighed as she thought of how frustrating and insensitive John could be. She forced a smile on her face despite her anger, closing the cabinet before turning around to face Dean. "And you mister. You're just about ready to get dressed and leave, aren't you?"

"Yes, Mommy," he said quietly, his eyes downcast. Mary couldn't help but frown again as she took notice of his sad behavior.

"That's no way to be acting," Mary admonished as lightly as she could as she sat down in front of Sam, opening a container of food in the process. She began to feed her youngest as she told Dean, "You need to brush your teeth and get dressed before you can grab your firefighter hat."

"Okay, Mommy," Dean nodded slowly, and began to head out of the kitchen, that same sorrowful expression still lingering in his forest green eyes.

Mary, ever observant, especially when it came to her children, put down the spoon she's been using to feed Sam. The six month old, happily unaware of the situation at hand, continued shrieking in laughter, babbling to himself as a chubby hand reach for the spoon stuck in the half- finished jar of apple puree.

"Dean," Mary sighed. "Come here, baby." She waited as Dean trudged back to her, studiously evading her gaze.

When he was close enough, Mary comfortingly took one of Dean's small hands and used her other to cradle his cheek. Dean's eyes reluctantly turned back to her, trouble written clearly across his face.

"Now, tell me. What's wrong, baby?"

"Nothing."

"Oh?" Mary arched her brow and Dean flushed, drawing away from his mother slightly and suddenly finding his Batman socks very intriguing.

"It's just…" he began hesitantly.

"Mmhm?" Mary encouraged.

"Dad," Dean murmured, his voice so faint, it was almost inaudible. Dean coughed, tracing a square tile on the floor with his toe. "You and Daddy, I mean."

"Oh, honey." Mary tried to keep her voice comforting, smooth, yet there was an undeniable tremble in it as she remembered each rift she'd had with John over the past few months. It wasn't just that he'd forget to help her with Sam and Dean every now and again-that kind of thing was trivial. But added to how long John usually was away from home and his growing distance from her and their sons made her livid, frustrated, and hurt all at once.

"Daddy and I are okay, Dean," Mary assured. Nevertheless, she felt the obvious lie burn bitterly as it left her lips. Suddenly, short arms were around her waist.

"Daddy still loves you," Dean whispered.

"I know he does. So chin up and smile, sweetie. Can you smile for Mommy?"

Dean glanced up from where his face had been previously pressed against her stomach and attempted a half-hearted grin.

"Come on, you can do better than that, can't you?" With that, a mischievous twinkle made its way into Mary's eyes and before Dean could blink, he was being tickled.

"Mooommmmyy," Dean complained, laughing and recovering from the attack long enough to sprint behind the island in the middle of the kitchen.

Mary grinned and approached the island slowly. A full-blown smile graced Dean's face now as he tried to figure out which way with mother would go.

"I'll tell you what, Dean," Mary said as she darted right, only for Dean to go left. They paused again at opposite ends of the island.

"If you can keep that smile for the whole day, I promise-no more tickle attacks _and_ there will be pie when you get home."

"Apple?" Dean asked hopefully. His eyes barely reached above the island.

"Apple," Mary confirmed. "Do we have a deal, Ace?"

"Yeah! Can I have a piece this big?" He asked while motioning with his hands.

"We'll see about that," Mary laughed at his antics. "But you need to go to school first."

"Ok, ok. I'm gonna get dressed right now!" He all but shouted as he scrambled out of the room. Mary gave a small chuckle at his earnest nature as she finished giving Sammy his food. She looked around before realizing that she still needed to make Dean his lunch. Taking Sammy into her arms, she carried him into the other room and set him down in the crib there. She began to turn the mobile as he watched on with wonder and amazement. With one last look at his face, which was wide-eyed, she murmured a quiet 'I love you' before turning back into the kitchen.

While hearing Dean race up above, she was able to quickly get his lunch together. Putting the finishing touch of a paper towel with the words 'Angels are watching over you' on it into the bag. Mary smiled as she heard Dean jump two steps at a time down the stairs before running over to her. "Mommy! Mommy, I can't find my firefighter hat!"

Looking at his terribly serious face, she couldn't help but tease him a little. "I'm starting to wonder whether or not you actually want to be a firefighter when you grow up. Losing your hat…"

"I-I thought I had it bu-but I just can't find it anywhere. I really do want to be a firefighter!" He choked out, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Oh honey, I know you do." She pulled him into a hug. Holding his shaking body close to hers. "Here, how about I find your hat for you and drop it off at your school before you present. What time are you presenting again?"

"Uh...after lunch," He voiced tentatively, unsure of himself.

"Ok. Be on the lookout for me then. I'll be sure to drop it off before then. I might even be able to try and see your presentation if your little brother Sammy is on his best behavior." She gave him one last squeeze before letting him go. "Now let's get ready to go."

As he nodded she grabbed Sam from his crib, "We have some time, so how about we walk today? Does that sound fine?"

"Yeah," Dean gave his consent, still clutching onto her dress however as he trailed behind her. He softly whispered, "I really hope you can stay."

"I hope so too." She said as well when they walked out the door.

It wasn't long before they arrived at the school, and Dean had a big smile on his face as he rushed off to his classroom. Mary waved at first, until realizing she realized that he wasn't going to turn around to wave once more. Her smile faltered for a mere second as she shifted Sam in her arms. She cooed to Sam, "It seems like your brother is a big boy now. I guess we better get going now." She chuckled as Sammy burbled happily in response while they started the trek back home.

The walk home was uneventful to say the least. And after setting Sam down for his nap, Mary started preparing the pie she had promised Dean. Soon it was ready to be put in the oven, but a quick glance at the clock revealed that it was nearing Dean's lunchtime. And she still had to search for his firefighter helmet. She knew she didn't have time to bake it just yet, so after covering it with a towel she merely just started searching for the helmet.

Going through his room, she wasn't able to find it anywhere. And it was nowhere in sight in any of the rooms downstairs. But just as she passed by Sammy's room, she noticed it out of the corner of her eye laying down in the corner of his nursery. Mary made her way straight to it and grabbed the helmet. As she blew off some dust that lightly covered it, she remembered why it was there. She chuckled at the memory of Dean reading a story he made up for Sam the other night. His helmet sitting askew on his head when he nodded off beside Sam. When John had picked Dean up to take him back to his room, the helmet had fallen off and had not been deemed important to pick up the other day.

Mary turned around to grab Sam so that they could start making their way to drop the helmet off to Dean, when instead she came face to face with a shockingly familiar yet different face. Yellow-eyes blinked amusedly at her, as she rushed over to Sam, shocked when she saw blood smeared around his lips. "What did you do?"

"My dear, I merely was coming back to collect payment regarding our deal. My question is why are you here?" He drawled. "I told you I was coming. Did I not?"

"Yes you did." She bit out. She looked anxiously around the room for anything, anything, that could help her. Mary left Sam in his crib to free up her hands. She could tell she was running out of options.

"Can't we make a new deal? One that doesn't involve my children." She turned to face Azazel.

"Oh bartering, are we? I'm very sorry but I am only here regarding payment. No other transactions are authorized, no matter how tempting. And to be quite honest, Sammy is a very important person to me." Azazel chuckled. "And don't even think of trying to run away with him. You know you won't even get one step out of this room."

A split second later, she grabbed Sam and tried to rush past Azazel, not caring for the warning he had just imparted. But as he had promised, she didn't get one foot out of the room before she felt herself being pulled back. She struggled against invisible forces as she tried to keep her grip on Sam. Azazel walked over slowly, clicking his tongue in a disapproving manner. "Why don't you people ever listen? Ahh careful now, can't be having you drop Sammy now, can I?"

She screamed and cursed him as he slid Sam out of her arms. "Rot in hell! You bastard!"

"You say that almost as if surprised. And rest assured, I already rot in hell, but I'll make sure your precise Dean burns down there with me." He waved his hand and Mary felt herself slowly slide up the wall to the ceiling. Stopping once reaching the center. "Hmm not bloody enough."

He waved his hand once more. And Mary felt a sharp pain in her abdomen as she saw drops of blood fall to the floor beneath her. She gasped in pain when she felt flames lick her from behind. As her skin blistered in the intense heat, a single tear fell. Evaporating before reaching the ground and her falling in and out of consciousness. The only thing she was able to make out was the sound of Sam crying. She faintly murmured one last 'shh I love you' before the flames engulfed her completely as Azazel watched on. He walked out of the room, just as this all around began to catch fire.

"I guess I can't leave you here." He sniffed as he held the crying Sam out and away from him. "But I can't just take care of you. Hmm what to do…"

As he walked away while fire trucks rushed to the burning house, he remembered the custom to drop unwanted kids at a fire station. He chuckled to himself. "If that doesn't fit you to a tee, Sammy boy. Let's make this story a little bit more interesting. I'm sure you will feel right at home with all those other little kids who dream of having a normal life. But in your case, I'm afraid that isn't quite possible."

**A/N: Hello! So this is a collaboration story between my friend and I. Hope you enjoyed it. Would love favorites/follows/reviews, etc. For more information check out our profile which will contain any relevant info that you should know. And thanks for reading.**


	2. Chapter 2

"_Would Dean Winchester report to the office, please? Dean Winchester, report to the office."_

Dean paused, mid-bite. _It's Mommy_, he thought happily, putting his sandwich down. As he stood up, his friends "ooooooohhh"ed collectively, acting as though he'd gotten in big trouble or something.

"Shut up," Dean said, smiling.

"I'll watch this for ya, yeah?" Benny asked. Dean's eyes flickered to his friend, who was already rifling through Dean's lunch bag as he usually did.

"Mmhm, but don't knock yourself out. I'm not gonna be gone long," Dean replied.

"Yeah, yeah. Go get yelled at by the principle," Benny teased in return.

Dean gave his friend a playful shove before wandering off in the direction of the office.

…

All offices appeared the same to Dean.

It didn't matter whether it was the doctor's office or the school's office. They were all seemed the same.

For one, they were always cold, like it was always winter in there.

Next were the plants—always fake and pretending they could survive and bloom in a place that they just can't.

Needless to say, offices were foreign territory for Dean.

Yet knowing what he was to expect upon coming to the office, Dean had been anticipating this visit all day.

Thus, it shouldn't have been particularly hard for Dean to find his mother—a touch of familiarity in this strange place-with his firefighter helmet, but it _was_.

Namely, because she was merely not there.

Just like that, the office had become an unknown country to Dean again. Dean hesitated by the doorway through which he had entered, wringing the sleeves of his Batman crewneck unsurely.

Maybe Mommy had forgotten? Or perhaps Sammy was being fussy again. Or maybe there was traffic.

But if _that_ was a possibility, why had he been called?

"Something you need, sweetie?"

Dean was drawn out of his thoughts by a lady wearing a bright pink cardigan at the front desk smiling expectantly at him.

"Um, yeah," Dean said, approaching the lady slowly, eyes darting about all the while, hoping to catch sight of his mother.

Up close, Dean could read the lady's name tag. Ms. Masters. Inquisitive eyes peered down at Dean through lashes heavy with mascara and the smile that was too bright and faintly smudged with lipstick widened in encouragement.

"I'm…uh—" Dean started, but was cut off by a rough voice and a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"It's all right, I got him." Dean glanced upwards to see that it was his father who had spoken up.

Dean's brows furrowed. _Daddy doesn't seem like himself…_

Indeed, there was something more drawn about his father than usual.

That exhaustion was different from the exhaustion that graced his features after a long day at the garage.

That tension in his dad's jaw was different from the tension that would normally appear when his dad and mom would argue—an occurrence that happened more often than not lately.

"Daddy, where's Mommy?" Dean asked as his father led him away from the front desk, having gotten permission to take Dean, and towards the door through which Dean had originally arrived. "Where are we going?"

"Dean." And just like that, further questions died on Dean's lips. Green eyes peered up searchingly at his father, who suddenly knelt down to his level.

At a closer glance, Dean could see that his father's eyes were red-rimmed and slightly vacant, as if he were not all there.

"Ace, I'll answer your questions later. I promise you, I'll answer them. But right now, I need you to get your stuff and fast. No more questions, okay?"

Dean nodded mutely and with that, the two of them walked into the cafeteria.

By now, few kids were in the cafeteria, most having finished their lunch and gone outside to play.

The place Dean had been sitting at before had been cleared. Benny must have took Dean's lunch box for safekeeping.

Deep in thought and his mind reeling at a mile per minute, Dean continued walking towards his classroom, unaware that his father had paused at some point until he realized that the only footsteps he heard were his own.

Dean glanced back in time to see that his father was kneeling down to pick up a napkin that had been lying by Dean's lunch seat.

It was Dean's.

Dean watched his father examine the script on the napkin with an unreadable expression. His mother tried to write something different on his napkins each day and Dean wracked his brain for a minute, trying to remember what she had written today.

Oh, right. _Angels are watching over you._

When his dad remained a statue, Dean tentatively walked over and tugged on his father's leather jacket.

"Daddy?" he questioned.

"Hmm?" As if drawn from a spell, his father tore his gaze off the crumpled napkin and down at his son. "Oh, right. Sorry." He read his wife's neat script on the napkin for what seemed like one last time before balling it up and tossing it in the closest trashcan.

Dean's teacher, Mrs. Harvelle, had easily let the two of them into the classroom, and as Dean gathered his things, he tried to catch what his father was saying to her.

"…sorry for the trouble…sudden…family emergency…"

If he hadn't felt it before, Dean could definitely feel the pit of dread growing within him. He rushed to cram the last of his folders into his backpack and hurried back to his dad's side, nearly knocking over a classmate's telescope, meant for that day's presentations, in his haste.

Dean had almost forgotten about that—the presentations. His firefighter hat seemed like a world away now.

As Dean walked with his dad to the parking lot, the questions began bubbling up inside him again.

They were almost to the Impala when Dean wrenched his hand out of his dad's clutch.

"What family emergency?" he blurted out, fingers seeking the adjusters on his backpack before his dad could grab his hand back.

"Dean. I told you—not now. Now get into the Impala." His father's voice had hardened at the end. Dean shivered inwardly. It was the tone that brooked no argument, the tone his father took when Dean knew he was seconds away from deep trouble.

Dean swallowed, hesitating. He'd gotten this far…

"No," he said stubbornly. "I…I want to know what's going on."

"Dean Smith Winchester. I won't repeat myself."

"Neither will I."

"Dean-"

"I deserve to know!" Dean almost shouted before his dad could continue. On a roll now, Dean charged on. "I don't like this, Daddy. Where's Mommy? Where's Sammy? What are you not telling me?"

Dean paused there, chest heaving and fists shaking from his outburst before his eyes widened.

He'd _never_ gone against his father like that and as his father took a step closer, Dean closed his eyes, expecting some form of punishment.

"Dean," his dad said, for what seemed like the millionth time that day. Yet there was a quietness about that one syllable that made Dean's eyes open to see his dad kneeling at his level once more.

"Mommy's…not coming," his father began quietly. "Neither is Sam—Sammy."

"Why?" Dean whispered. "Did they go somewhere?"

His dad let out a broken chuckle. "Yeah. Th—they sure did."

"Where?"

John studied his eldest son. So innocent, still so young… He couldn't do this. There was no right way to tell his child that his mother and brother were long gone. No right way for even himself to comprehend it. So he left behind his Marine background in favor of something he had not been the best at, a father.

"Up," John finally said in response to his son's question.

"Up?"

"Mmhm. To the sky, sun, the moon, the stars."

"Why?"

"To become the angels watching over you."

"What happened to the angels already watching over me?"

"Well, after watching humans for so long, the angels wanted to become human. They wanted to know what is was like to talk to people and what pie tasted like and they wanted this so much that with every passing day they got sadder and sadder. So Mommy and Sammy offered to take their place, to say thank you to these angels for all they've done and to watch over you better."

"So…Mommy and Sammy are never coming back?" Dean's asked, his voice trembling slightly.

"No, Dean, they aren't," his dad said gently.

Traitorous tears slid down Dean's cheek and he furiously wiped them away as he pulled the Impala door open.

"I hate angels."

"You and me both, Dean."

**A/N: Hello! This is the other half of Collaboration SPN. Sorry for the Sherlock-sized hiatus, but hopefully the content makes up for it. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**My fortune cookie for today: **_**To reach distant places, you have to take the first step.**_

_Listened to: The Sound of Settling by Death Cab for Cutie_

"Isn't there someone you can leave the kid with?" The officer asked in reference to Dean. His stare caused Dean to shuffle behind his father's legs, but even there he could feel that he was out of place in the ashes of his home.

As he vaguely processed what the officer was telling his father, he watched the firefighters mill about the wreckage. Their bright outfits provided a stark contrast to his mood, and a reminder as to who he wanted to be when he grew up. But at the same time something was off. Dean had always thought of these men and woman as his heroes, but where had they been when his family home had gone up in flames? When Sammy and mommy had been inside?

Tears came unwillingly to his eyes. And he couldn't quite tell if it was entirely because of the ashes blowing in the breeze or the pain he felt in his heart. But he had to be strong, no matter how much he wanted to scream and cry. Because that's what mommy would have wanted. Sammy would have cried, but he was just a baby. Dean was old enough to know better. Even when he didn't feel that way.

The word "accident" rolled over his head as his father talked with the cop. But it seemed to offer his father some happiness. As little as it was. And as it was later explained to him, it meant that the fire hadn't been started intentionally. Most likely it had started from the oven. Dean couldn't quite process how this was supposed to make him feel better but he just tried to accept that it was probably one of those things he wouldn't understand until he was older.

But the word was frustrating to hear over and over again the next few weeks, as people stopped by the hotel that they had taken residence in, to offer their condolences. "Oh we heard about the accident. We are so sorry for your loss." Was constantly repeated. Even school wasn't a safe haven from the pitying stares from people, when he was finally able to go back after a few days, even though he took another day off for the funerals.

Students, teachers, even the principal, all wanted to talk to him and offer their support. The only person he appreciated by his side was Benny, but he wasn't much help. A majority of their time spent together during the recesses and lunches was spent in silence. Neither of them quite knew what to say to one another. But Dean knew that Benny's presence was more then enough.

Time changed things though. Dean and John couldn't stay at the hotel forever. So as soon as they could, John found a place for them to rent in another town. While Dean didn't want to leave his friend behind, even he could see the reasoning behind leaving the town behind. His father and him had great memories there, but the bad simply just outweighed them. He did, however, wish that Sammy and his mother could follow them to their new house.

The new house left much to desire in his child mind. But he was able to adapt quickly. While there weren't that many kids his age around, the adults who lived nearby were interesting enough. Mr. Singer, for example, was as nice as could be and his wife made the most delicious pies in the town. Dean made it a point to stop by there on the way home just for a piece of pie that was always waiting for him.

Slowly things began to seem almost normal again. As awful as that sounded. Soon he stopped waking up in the middle of the night thinking that his mother was there watching over him. There wasn't the constant reminder from people that his mother and brother were gone, but the table for two was more then enough. And eventually the pictures of his family that he drew in class became just his father and him.

Life was going pretty good when they had to move again. He couldn't say that he was exactly sorry to go. He knew that he was going to miss the people, but that was pretty much the extent of it. And if he was old enough to know about the dating world, he probably would have likened the town to a rebound relationship.

They stayed in the next town for the remainder of his elementary school life. And in the next for middle school. Then likewise a new town for high school. Dean couldn't really find fault with his father for making them move constantly. He had at least let him stay at the same school for it to be completed, then he got a new beginning at the next school.

John never seemed to be quite happy with how life was in each town. It was as though the longer they stayed still in a town, the more John became afraid of the demons, those bleak memories in his mind chasing him down, accumulating, growing like a tumor, until he could bear it no longer. And Dean knew that while they both had been affected by Mary and Sam's deaths, John had taken the brunt of it since Dean had been young enough not to fully process it. So he learned how to deal with each move as it came.

He remembered sometime after elementary school, while they had been unpacking, John had gone on a rampage cleaning out almost everything that had once belonged to Mary and Sam. Even things just from that period of time had gone into the trash can. He hadn't tried to stop him, but after the ordeal had been done and John was passed out in the living room, he saw his firefighter hat peeking out from the overflowing trash can.

Dean had pulled it out and blew off the light dust that covered it. Before he could even really process his own emotions, his arms had moved to place it over his head. It rested on his head in a light way, if that even makes sense, but it didn't hold as much weight in his mind as it had before. But when he say his reflection in a mirror, the helmet seemed to become a more natural part of his appearance. It grew on him, so to speak, in the one minute that he wore it.

It reminded him of what it was that they were running from. Now what exactly that was, he couldn't place a specific word, but he knew that deep down he was running from his disappointment. In both himself and those he had once considered his heroes. Because more than just his mother and Sammy dying, his childish illusion that life would always be fair and the good guys would always win died along with them.

So when he found himself years later in front of his new workplace, a fire station, he pondered for the reason why he chose this job. For he had had no particular reason at the time, only some general inkling that this was where he was supposed to this was not the life he had once envisioned for himself as a young boy, saving lives to prove that it was possible. That his own family had just been the exception for some bizarre, horrible reason.

But no...he actually questioned himself as to why he thought this job would actually help him. Though a hint of him still wondered if there was a higher power that wanted him there. Be it God or a demon messing with him.

**A/N: Ecra here. Sorry it took so long. Been waiting to edit it, and that isn't even completely done. Might update an edited version later. Just so sorry that it was put off so long. But life is kinda sucky for my side. I can't promise a speedy post of the next chapter. Hope you enjoy the chapter however. Reviews/favorites/follows are very much appreciated.**


	4. Chapter 4

Dean lived in particular moments.

Each call to the fire station was Mom and Sammy, each person he pulled out from a flaming house was Mom and Sammy, each plea, each cry.

It was as if Dean was trying to save them in a thousand ways they could never be saved.

At the very least, however, he had the chance to save people, and on a late winter night, when Stanford called about a fire, Dean set out to do just that.

Sleepy students shocked awake were gathered outside a burning dormitory by the time rosy lights and wailing sirens arrived at the university in a fanfare of commotion and practiced precision.

Dean's team scattered gracefully, robotically, as the fire truck came to a halt; Dean found himself grabbed not so ceremoniously as he hit the ground.

His assailant was tall—taller than Dean, and his hazel eyes were frantic as he stumbled over his words in his hurry to tell Dean that he's sure his girlfriend was still stuck in the building and _please_, Dean needed to get her out.

Minutes later, Dean was geared up, picking his way through a heaving and on the verge of collapsing dormitory, searching for anyone still caught in the fire but with one particular name in mind: Jessica Moore.

It had been the stranger's good fortune that Dean had been part of the rescue team anyways.

Dean had gotten out two students trapped in the stairwell before another plea for help reached him.

He navigated his way through most of a hallway before breaking through the door he'd heard cries spilling from.

Dean was met by a pair of flashing yellow eyes the smiled at him, chilling to the bone despite the hellish heat before vanishing, as the door splintered under the weight of his ax.

Dean would have paused and thought about this on any given day, however on any given day, there weren't mysterious eyes that slipped in and out of existence like the Cheshire Cat, or a girl pinned to a miraculously un-charred ceiling for that matter.

Dean couldn't begin to comprehend the physics of this situation—there was a _girl_ on the _ceiling_ like fucking Spiderman or some shit—but what he _could_ understand was the danger at present.

"Jessica?" Dean called out.

She nodded, the tears stuck to her skin glinting in the light of the fire, and tried to reach for him.

It took a table that wasn't on fire to get close enough to Jessica; the second Dean's hand met hers, Dean was thrown back, quite literally, as if an explosion had gone off in the space between them.

Dean grunted as he hit the floor face first, but an intense heat brushing over the back of his neck had him flipping over to see Jessica in flames.

The smell of cooking flesh filled the air alongside the darker, bitter scent of smoke wafting about.

If Dean didn't know any better, he would have thought there was a barbeque somewhere close by.

But as it was, Dean _did_ know better and the incomprehensible yet horrific fact that there was a person being burnt made nausea swim through his veins.

Dean didn't feel sick for very long before his friend Charlie from the search and assist team found him, and said something about everyone having to leave _now_.

"B-but Jessica-" he began.

"Crap, there's someone still here?" Charlie cut in. She began to search the room, and when Dean glanced up at where Jessica had been previously, there was nothing but fire.

"There's no one, Dean. You sure you saw somebody?"

Dean was saved from answering as another member from search and assist appeared, reporting that the building has been cleared.

Too numb to speak, Dean followed Charlie as she pulled him out of the room.

They had just made it out the doors before the dormitory blew up.

Dean woke up to the oh-so-familiar setting of a hospital.

He had been reckless enough (much to his dad's displeasure) after his mother's death to know the antiseptic smell of the hospital, the tense murmuring of doctors, the sound of his heart on a machine, and the silence from lack of visitors.

Dean used this silence to think about Jessica.

Between the time the dormitory's explosion had sent Dean flying and the first time he woke to find out that he had a broken ankle and a litter of bruises, Dean had wondered if his entire encounter with Jessica had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination, a product of lingering memories of Mom and Sammy as he arrived at Stanford, and the hospital drugs administered to him thereafter.

Nevertheless, the uneasiness that crept along his skin as he thought about what had supposedly happened to Jessica whispered to Dean that the probability that Jessica had been real was great, and it was on him that she wasn't alive anymore.

Another name to add to his list.

Mom, Sammy, and now, Jessica.

Dean felt that pit of guilt that had never quite left him after Mom and Sammy had died returning to him as a chasm that enveloped his entire being, trying to claw away at his conscience until it screamed.

The guilt, imaginary or not, hurt as much as his physical wounds.

The week Dean was let out of the hospital, he found his time constantly split between visiting Charlie, who was still in the hospital, and trying to make her laugh with flowers and cheesy Hallmark cards, and swinging by Stanford, again and again.

It was as if Dean was a ghost, haunting the place ever since the fire.

On a particular visit, Dean passed by a note, stapled to various places over the university, bearing the date of Jessica's funeral, which had passed a few days since.

For a while, he stared at the photo of Jessica, crowded by notes from those who knew her.

He took in blue eyes that radiated happiness, and a smile made of sunshine. It was difficult to imagine that she could be dead when she seemed so full of life.

Dean's eyes brushed over the address given on the note once, and with that, promptly left.

It was a cloudy day when Dean finally visited Jessica's grave.

Candles crowded the freshly planted tombstone and flowers fluttered in the wind.

Dean added his own bouquet of purple hyacinths to the collection, a silent plea for forgiveness that he knew could never be answered.

"You."

Dean started at the sound of a voice beside him. He hadn't heard anybody approach.

It was the stranger from the night of the fire.

**A/N: Fear not. I, Ecra's unnamable friend, am not dead. Hence this chapter. Hooray.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Song for this chapter: Goes Without Saying by Trent Dabbs. (For all the angsty feels)**

"You." It gave neither an indication of happiness or anger, it simply was. But given the situation it wouldn't have been a shock for it to be the latter. Dean felt he deserved as much.

Bordering on cliche, he was ready to take a punch to the face or the gut as the beginning of his penance. Already he clenched his fist in anticipation for the pain, mangling one of the flowers still stuck in his hand from when he jerked into a standing position facing the stranger. But the tall man made no move to come closer. He just stood there with his face awash with grief, his body folding into itself. The epitome of brokenness.

Dean wanted to tell him how sorry he was but the right words kept escaping him. And it seemed fairly obvious. Were there any words that wouldn't hurt the guy more than what Dean had already done? Cause he certainly didn't have them anywhere in his vocabulary. Each phrase that seemed appropriate in his mind refused to roll off his tongue, before he managed to slip one of the stupidest lines he had ever thought out into the air.

"Look..." Dean began. "I...well I tried that night."

"I know. I saw you rush in." He seemed to open up a bit with that, but it was gone a millisecond later. "...and I saw you come out."

The man pulled his jacket tighter around him as the winds picked up, bringing even chillier air to whip around them. Any candle situated around the tombstone that had still been lit promptly went out at this point. But the cold air seemed to waken the man from the zombie-like air that hung around him, bringing clarity to the words he was obviously mulling over in his mind.

"My name's Sam." He said stronger than any of the other short lines he had said previously. "Is it your first time coming here?"

"Uh yeah it is. I saw a flier mentioning that it was here...I've been holed up in a hospital, otherwise I would have come sooner." Dean started to awkwardly thrust the lone flower, still glued to his hand, towards Sam reflexively before he thought better of it. But the movement grabbed Sam's attention.

"Purple hyacinths." He gave a small mournful smile. "I put some myself a few weeks back. The people at the flower shop said that they were an 'askance for forgiveness'."

Dean had to force himself to not gape at the man in shock. Shame crept up into his mind that he had made this man feel responsible for his girlfriend's death. It was his own fault that he wasn't fast enough to save her, Sam had done everything he could have possibly done.

"You shouldn't have done that," Dean's voice was low. If he didn't have as much control over his emotions and facial expressions, his face would have burned red and tears would have fallen freely. Hell he would be done on the ground bawling for forgiveness.

It suddenly occurred to him that he should have indeed gotten a bouquet of the purple hyacinths for Sam. Because while he felt the need to for forgiveness from the now forever gone Jessica, it seemed even more important to get that from the person more greatly affected by his mistakes in this life. Jessica was gone, at peace even if you were into that sort of thing. But Sam was still stuck here, left to deal with all the pain left behind.

"It wasn't you who failed her." Dean's voice growing louder with each increasing word. "It was my job. But I hesitated...I fucking hesitated for a second and that was enough time for it to not even matter that I had found her in the first place. Hell it would have been better that way. Just so I wouldn't have to deal with this goddamn guilt."

His chest heaving, he began again much softer. "So please don't blame yourself. Hate me. I deserve it. It was my fault."

"You didn't know what I know. I didn't...fu-" Sam closed his eyes, as if trying to wish away a bad dream, crouching down and circling himself with his long arms as he did that. Through clenched teeth he continued. "I didn't do all that I could. I ran...I just...damn...I'm the biggest coward. I didn't do my job to protect her. She didn't need me, god she was so independent. But the one time she did...I failed."

"Wait, what? You called the fire station. Don't beat yourself up cause you weren't trained to handle...those...kinds of situations. As a civilian, you did the best you could do by calling us. That's why we are here."

"I didn't call them." The sentence seemed to wobble in the air, almost being carried away by the wind since it was so soft. "I ran outside and I just sat there. Watching it burn."

"What? But I thought the fire originated in your apartment." Dean blurt out.

Sam finally looked back up. "It did. At least that's what they told me after. We didn't even have a candle in the room. She didn't like them on a regular basis…" He smiled at some distant memory in his mind before his mind focused once more.

"I woke up and she was there. Up there...on the ceiling. And I ran before I even had the time to process what was happening. Before I could realize she wasn't going to be running behind me. I was just so terrified. Someone passing by saw the fire and called it in. By the time you guys got there I had realized what I had done. And I tried to run back in but it was too much. Too much smoke. Too much heat. Too much guilt. It was suffocating." He took a deep breath. "So yes it was my fault she died. I was right there! Before you even got on the road probably! I had a chance and I blew it!"

"Wait...the ceiling?" Dean's mind flashed back to that night, ignoring the obviously upset Sam who was stubborning glaring at him. Challenging him to question his guilt in Jessica's death. "You saw that too...but...that's not...You sure you saw her on the ceiling?"

Sam huffed. "I know it doesn't make sense. But she was on the ceiling, believe me. It was terrible having to explain how her blood got on me in such a way like ice dripping down. I was practically accused of setting the fire myself to hide the fact I supposedly killed her."

Dean ignored the second half for the most part, concentrating on the confirmation of something not possible. "B-but that isn't possible. Possibly hallucinations...I was in the smoke long enough...but my mask was on securely and they didn't treat me for smoke inhalation in the hospital. Now I know I wasn't the sharpest tool in the toolbox but even I know 'bout gravity…"

Now as the last half processed in his mind and Dean looked back at Sam as he tried to imagine this giant pinning Jessica's body to the ceiling. Probably using hooks or some other sort of invisible wires that he just couldn't make out at the time. But if there had been any of those, they had burned away in the fire leaving no trace behind. Maybe even the explosion had been set off by something other than the relative unpredictability of fires, however since there hadn't been anything in the news about any sort of investigation into the fire the odds of any explosives being found was low. Obviously though, Sam was smart since he was going to Stanford. He probably had had some course about how murderers potentially got away with their crimes.

So he definitely had some potential to be some grade-A psychopath that could have orchestrated his own girlfriend's death. Cause how well did he actually know this guy? He had sent him inside to look for his girlfriend and that was about it. Everyone has motives behind the actions they do. And even smiles, or frowns and tears in this case, could hide the real emotions that someone is experiencing behind their mask.

Dean looked at this situation in an entirely new light. Something had never sit quite right about the whole thing. And even while lying in the hospital thinking about Jessica, he had never gotten past the odd circumstances into finding a more plausible situation. He had focused on the guilt and had been burying himself in it. And he would always carry that guilt, he had indeed been given the chance to save her. But maybe he could find out the truth for himself and possibly try to save himself for once.

A tiny part of him hoped he could take her off the list of people he didn't save. Not to downplay that he didn't save her but to focus on the fact that he had tried, for once. And if he went crazy over thinking this, then he would have to add his own name to the list. Which suited him quite nicely. Since if he had to honest, he had lost himself a long time ago and those people he saved were to atone for Sammy and his mom but the underlying current was the hope to save himself from the all consuming grief he had. Because if he opened the list to showcase even the living people he had failed, it would grow exponentially. With both his dad and him on the top of it, since they were both still living with his mistakes.

But finally his mind shifted back to the current situation, this man still 'hating' himself in front of him. He had stood back up while Dean had been lost in his thoughts and Dean finally took real notice over how much taller Sam was. This was dangerous. He was a stranger and now the focus of Dean's scrutiny. If he gave any indication of suspecting Sam, then it could destroy his investigation before it even began. And that was the last thing he needed in his life. It was time to play it cool, which would be mildly amusing to anyone privy to the knowledge that a suspicious fire had been the root behind their accidental meeting.

"So...you come here often?" Dean mentally slapped himself for the stupidly obvious question. Subtle questioning had never been his strong point and this was the worst line that sounded like a cheap pickup line.

Sam gave him an odd look but nodded. "I try to make it out here as often as I can. Putting water for the flowers that people have left behind and such. I know they do that for you here, but I...I need something to do."

"Ahh that's cool." He attempted to smile. "It's a nice gesture. I think anyway."

"Yeah." Sam took a glance at the tombstone blocked by Dean. "It looks like they beat me to it this week though. Are you going to stay much longer?"

"I'm sorry. I can't." He gave a more sincere, yet still awkward chuckle. "I have some friends I need to meet soon. And the wind is really starting to pick up. So...uh...yeah I'll leave you in peace."

Dean nodded his head goodbye and turned to walk away. But Sam called after him once more, making him look back over his shoulder. "Thank you for coming. I know you tried."

"Not good enough apparently though," Dean muttered under his breath as he kept walking to his car.

Once there he hurried into the sleek black car he loved. Gritting his teeth, he then took the key and tried to stick it into the ignition but his partly numb hands weren't helping the matter. Eventually though the key got placed into the right position and slid right in and his cold hands seeked out the heater. Blowing into his hands in an effort to speed up the process, he began to outline his plan of attack for finding out the truth about Sam and this entire mysterious one being researching at Stanford.

Interviewing people who knew him and his teachers would be difficult, but he knew he would somehow manage. So he didn't stress about it too much as he walked up to the intimidating building that held the teacher that started off Sam's day, Cas Novak.

But the moment he finally saw the door labeled 'Humanities', he found his courage somewhat lacking. And that might have had something to do with the fact the light in the classroom was out. However as he got closer someone else seemed to be heading in the same direction and they met at the door. The man looked at Dean with a quizzical look in his blue eyes as he pulled his trenchcoat off under the eave of the building, keys emerging in his hand as he took a step closer to the door.

"You're here for…?"

**A/N: Ecra here again. And for once a chapter within the one month deadline. Sorry for the lack of editing. Life is busy and I wanted to get this out to you guys as soon as possible. So most likely an edited version will be uploaded later. For more info regarding when the next chapter will be posted, check our profile. I'll try to keep that up to date. Otherwise hope you enjoyed the chapter and review to encourage my friend to ditch her other work.**


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